


Misadventures with Snow and Mistletoe (Everywhere the Ineffable Husbands Go)

by The_Ineffable_Zephyr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Aziraphale reads aloud, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Crowley has occult powers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holding Hands, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Is this a kissing book?, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Mistletoe, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), ao3feed ineffablehusbandz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ineffable_Zephyr/pseuds/The_Ineffable_Zephyr
Summary: 31 Days of Ineffables Holiday Advent Prompts will be collected here. So far they're fluffy and a little bit comedic. I'll update the tags and rating if it strays into other territory. Honestly, these have been fun to write but I've had no idea where the muse bunnies will take me with each prompt.Day 1: Mistletoe - a tree lighting, hot cocoa, and Aziraphale story time in Tadfield with the Them, so what could go wrong?Day 2: Snow - the weather gets the better of Crowley and Aziraphale takes care of himDay 3: Nutcracker - making fun of head offices and snuggling, what could be better?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	1. Day 1: Mistletoe is a Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 of the “31 Days of Ineffable” advent prompts, featuring comedic shenanigans of Crowley and Aziraphale trying to interface more with humans in Tadfield, Aziraphale bonding with Deirdre Young, Crowley's plant knowledge, Aziraphale’s regrettable choice of Christmas tale, and The Them being there to move the awkwardness along. I promise there’s kissing.
> 
> “Excuse me, Mr. Aziraphale,” said Wensleydale in his best star-pupil voice, “you must know a lot of stories.”
> 
> They were all seated in the living room, warmed by a fire and the splendid cocoa.
> 
> “Can you please tell us a Christmas story?” Wensleydale asked.
> 
> “Preferably a scary one,” said Pepper.
> 
> “Or at least one with bad guys,” added Brian.
> 
> Aziraphale, wriggling a bit in his seat with the pleasure of being called on to perform this most timeless of rituals, looked around at the children seated on the rug.
> 
> Crowley leaned back on the couch beside Aziraphale—quite farther back, in fact, than seemed probable to the Youngs based on their experience with the structure of their furniture—and smiled. He was enjoying both the angel’s pleasure and the sense of an impending train wreck.

The Tadfield tree lighting was a thing to behold. Even Aziraphale and Crowley attended, drawn as they were by their newfound commitment to doing things “the human way.” (Crowley never quite succeeded in stifling a snigger whenever Aziraphale used that phrase, which meant it was used quite often.) Because their lives had been saved and restored by four (mostly) human children, they felt a certain obligation to check in on The Them and make sure they were being influenced in a, shall we say, balanced way. So after the tree lighting, they were going to spend the afternoon at the Youngs’. (Deirdre had been quite confused yet charmed by the embossed paper invitation she had received to host a holiday gathering in her own home.)

The angel and demon held hands toward the back of the crowd as an inadvisably long series of extension cables were connected to the park’s electrical source. With a pop, thirty feet of pine tree was illuminated with little white lights that sparkled in a way that might have been intentional or might have been the result of overloading the circuit.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand and looked up, his cheeks pink with delight and the brisk air.

“I hope no one turns on their vacuum cleaner.”

“Oh shush, it’s beautiful.”

Crowley squeezed back.

—

“Ooh, look, Crowley.” The angel raised his eyes to the doorway where a bundle of green leaves and white berries were hung.

“Bastard plant, that.”

“Just a bit misunderstood. I thought you rather liked traditions that lead to temptation?”

“Oh I definitely do.” Crowley closed the gap between them, slipping his fingers in Aziraphale’s waistcoat pockets. “It never was a very effective demon deterrent.”

Aziraphale glanced down then back up at Crowley’s face. “I suppose it might not be proper around the young humans,” he said, but then licked his lips.

Crowley growled softly and took Aziraphale’s lips in his own. Aziraphale melted a little and reached up his hand to pull Crowley closer.

“Who’s ready for some cocoa?” Deirdre Young called from the kitchen.

Aziraphale pulled back, his eyes sparkling with the new temptation. “Ooh, cocoa!” He gave Crowley an apologetic look before moving away.

“Let’s go see the tree, he said,” Crowley muttered to himself. “It’ll be romantic, he said.”

Aziraphale wandered into the Young’s kitchen, admiring its quaint touches. “Oh, yes, I would quite like some.”

“Of course, dear,” said Deirdre, little knowing who these strange and courteous gentlemen were but, going by Adam’s enthusiasm for sharing stories about them, she trusted they were having an educational influence on her son. “Any for you?” she asked Crowley, who slouched in the doorway.

“Nah, ‘s kid stuff.” Crowley waved a hand. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at Crowley in a familiar request. “I’ll just take the tray out, shall I?”

“Oh, how kind of you. Yes.”

Crowley exited with the cocoa before he had to witness Aziraphale and Deirdre out-den-mother each other with in-depth discussions about serviettes and healthy snacks for tea time.

—

“Excuse me, Mr. Aziraphale,” said Wensleydale in his best star-pupil voice, “you must know a lot of stories.”

They were all seated in the living room, warmed by a fire and the splendid cocoa.

“Can you please tell us a Christmas story?” Wensleydale asked.

“Preferably a scary one,” said Pepper.

“Or at least one with bad guys,” added Brian.

Aziraphale, wriggling a bit in his seat with the pleasure of being called on to perform this most timeless of rituals, looked around at the children seated on the rug. His eyes landed on Adam for final approval.

“Go on, then,” said Adam. His dad gave a pointed cough from his corner chair. “Please.”

Crowley leaned back on the couch beside Aziraphale—quite farther back, in fact, than seemed probable to the Youngs based on their experience with the structure of their furniture—and smiled. He was enjoying both the angel’s pleasure and the sense of an impending train wreck.

“Hmmm let me think…” Aziraphale paused in a show of searching his memory. With a snap, he said, “Ah? I’ve got it. I seem to have brought just the thing.” Aziraphale reached into the bag that certainly had not been beside him a moment ago. He pulled out a yellow cloth-bound book of Norse Mythology.

Aziraphale also produced reading glasses and adjusted them on his nose. He opened the book on his lap and began to read with a dramatic flourish usually reserved for his magic shows. “Baldur, grandson of the Norse god, Thor, woke up one morning certain that each and every plant and animal on earth wanted to kill him. His mother consoled him. His wife consoled him, but all to no avail.”

“That’s stupid. Why doesn’t his grandpa use his hammer to protect him?” Adam asked. Pepper shushed him.

“As Baldur cowered in his room, half-wild with fear, his mother and wife decided to ask every living thing to leave their poor Baldur in peace. They begged the kindness of the oak tree, the pig, the cow, the crow, the ant and even the worm.”

“Don’t forget about the dog,” said Brian. Dog sighed into a more comfortable flop on the floor beside Adam.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale soothed. “Each agreed. Then, as Baldur paused to celebrate his release from torment, he felt a pain in his chest. He had been stabbed and killed—“

“—By a monster?” Pepper spring up to her knees with excitement.

“—by an arrow,” Aziraphale said with rather more emphasis than necessary. Pepper collapsed back on the rug. His patience thinning, Aziraphale leaned into the drama of the reveal. “An arrow made from…the wood of… (you’ll never guess it) a mistletoe plant!” He pointed to the bunch hanging in the doorway.

Aziraphale’s triumphant grin was met by only blank looks from The Them. “Mistletoe,” he explained hastily, “was the one species on earth his wife and mother had failed to notice. Baldur died—”

“Hah, serves him right,” muttered Pepper.

“—But a lesson was learned: Never forget about the mistletoe. Mistletoe would come to hang over our doors as a reminder to never forget. We kiss beneath it to remember what Baldur’s wife and mother forgot.”

“Is this a kissing book?” asked Brian with disgust.

“My mum says mistletoe is a sexist tradition started by horny boys to corner girls against their will,” Pepper said.

“Well, that may be true, however…” Aziraphale trailed off, uncertain how his storytelling had gone so off course.

“I think it’s lovely and romantic,” Deirdre said with an encouraging smile for Aziraphale.

“It’s a parasite actually.”

Everyone turned to look at Crowley, who had been silent for the last half hour, slung over the couch and unreadable behind his glasses.

“Excuse me,” said Pepper with as much polite indignation as she could muster, “What?”

Crowley shrugged and slouched further. “It’s a right clever plant. Grafts onto the branches of trees, tempts birds to eat its berries, and then the seeds stick to their tail feathers and have to be rubbed off onto a new branch.”

“Who wants to see a magic trick?” Aziraphale produced a coin in his hand.

In the silence that followed, Crowley, snapped upwards and sent a meaningful look in Adam’s direction.

“No thanks, we gotta go.” Adam stood up and looked at The Them. He had a feeling that a demonic miracle might have occurred in his favor. “There’s better stuff to do in my room.”

Pepper and Brian followed Adam towards the stairs.

“Actually,” said Wensleydale from the rug, “I want to know more about how a plant can be a parasite.”

“Okay,” Adam shrugged. “See you later then.”

And so three of The Them went upstairs to virtually obliterate each other on the new video game console, which Crowley had provided as a storytelling machine better suited to modern kids. Wensley (and Arthur) stayed to learn just how much of a bastard mistletoe is to other plants and to birds. And Aziraphale helped Deirdre clean up, trading recipes and assuring her that Adam was growing into a fine young man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for my source, I was researching the history of mistletoe and got a little too into it. Both the Norse myth text and parasite info came from this delightful Smithsonian article: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/mistletoe-the-evolution-of-a-christmas-tradition-10814188/


	2. Day 2: Snow, or London Weather is Miserable if You’re a Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Holiday Prompts. Sometimes the weather gets the better of Crowley. Or, one time a freezing cold, wet demon showed up in the bookshop and Aziraphale knew just what to do. Fluff, snuggling, and important conversations about the weather.

As the snow turned to sleet, Crowley’s mood turned from glum to sour. How was he supposed to keep track of fleeting human holidays that closed the angel’s favorite pastry shop unannounced? He trudged and slid through the sidewalks turned to slush, muttering darkly into his insufficient collar. It was only a couple blocks to the bookshop, but the sky grew ominously darker and the wind picked up. Gusts sent icy precipitation into his face piercing his skin like needles. A fierce shiver went through his spine. Just before the shop, he misjudged the curb and sunk one foot deep into a puddle. He cursed and the storm clouds glowered in return.

When Aziraphale opened the shop door, he found one soaked, shivering demon who practically fell through the entryway. All that demon could manage to say was, “It’s cold outside!”

Aziraphale squinted at the gray, stormy weather beyond the tungsten-warm glow of his shop. “Mmm quite. Do come in dear.”

Ever since the apoca-wasn’t, they had moved the couch to a more central area of the bookshop with better access to the large windows overlooking Soho. Crowley flopped down there, remembering to miracle himself dry just before he touched the upholstery. The miracle, however, did nothing to affect the chill that had settled deep beneath his clothes. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the window panes.

Aziraphale sprang into motion without a word, grabbing a thick blanket of soft wool tartan, fuzzy socks, and an oversized cable knit sweater he knew Crowley liked to “borrow.” 

Decked out in all of Aziraphale’s best warm offerings, Crowley tried to slow his breathing. “It’s really awful.”

“I know,” soothed Aziraphale. He set down a mug of cocoa and a mug of tea beside the couch. 

Crowley lifted the blanket enough for Aziraphale to snuggle in beside him. "Get in, Angel." Aziraphale smoothed Crowley's hair and then arranged the blanket over both of them. “Especially the feet. Poor circulation from being so tall, or something.”

Crowley hiked his socked feet onto the couch cushion and slipped his toes into the warm spot underneath Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale worked his hands in a kneading motion from Crowley’s ankles up his legs to help with circulation. Crowley sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He uncrossed his arms and took the angel’s hands in his own. 

After several minutes like this, Crowley finally felt his insides had thawed. Warm, at last. He felt Aziraphale shift beside him.

“Poor dear, were you affecting the weather again? Look, it’s all better now.”

Crowley opened his eyes to follow Aziraphale’s gaze. The wind has lessened and light flakes of snow were falling from the sky. “Mmmph,” he said in agreement. “It's a stupid occult power, really.” But he was looking at his angel, who was enchanted by the snow, and he couldn’t muster any real ire. The snow continued to fall, gentle and slow.

Crowley allowed a tender look to settle on his face. When the angel turned from the window and saw it, he smiled. Crowley reached out his arm and pulled Aziraphale close, wrapping them up in the blanket, cozy and content.

Outside, everything softened into quiet white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Drawlight for the prompts and for promoting these fics. 
> 
> This piece was partly inspired by this gorgeous art: https://mielpetite.tumblr.com/post/189422584842/i-have-a-lot-to-do-i-couldnt-possibly-do-any-of
> 
> Follow me @tickety-boo-af on Tumblr.


	3. Day 3: Nutcracker or Hell Has the Worst Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy bedroom talk in which Crowley and Aziraphale make fun of their former respective head offices, have a good laugh, and a good snug. Not really holiday-related. I just want them to be happy together, okay?

Now, it didn't hurt so much to reminisce. Not when they could be lying in bed, tangled together, Aziraphale on his back and Crowley curled to his side.

“Did you ever have to sit through the most boring meetings in Heaven?”

“Too many times to count, dear boy.”

“Ugh, Hell was the worst for that. Like, we’re already there for eternity, do they have to make it seem longer with meetings about deeds of the century? And this one time, I swear, this demon named Gregory was making the most annoying sounds. He was clipping his claws or cracking open nuts or something.”

“They have nutcrackers in...hell?”

“Oh, they bloody love those mundane instruments of torture down there. But he wasn’t even using it on anybody, just making us all listen to this grinding and cracking sound while Hastur droned on about metrics and temptation goals. Thought I might slough right out of my skin,” Crowley shuddered. 

“Dreadful,” Aziraphale agreed. “It can be so quiet Upstairs,” here he dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “once we were all at the quarterly “Good Deeds” meeting, but Michael wasn’t paying any attention. She thought she was so discreet turning on and off her phone but we could all hear her blowing into it.” Aziraphale did a prissy impression of Michael, making kissy faces at a handheld phone. Crowley cackled, rolling over with mirth and nearly falling off the bed.

“Oh no you don’t.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and dragged him back until the demon was spooned against him, snug and chortling.

“What a prat.” 

“Indeed.” Aziraphale let himself laugh a little. The feeling of Crowley still shaking against him was a bit much and once he started laughing, he found he couldn’t stop. “Oh dear,” he gasped, “what have you done, you fiend?”

“Me?” Crowley pulled back in mock surprise. Then he grinned wickedly, “You’re the bastard who made Michael miracle you a towel in Hell?”

“I did!” Aziraphale nearly howled, tears of joy streaming down his face now.

Crowley barked another laugh, gazing fondly at Aziraphale. The angel hiccuped and his breathing slowed as he focused on Crowley’s eyes of burnished gold, brimming with love, bright as the sun. Aziraphale felt giddy and overwhelmed but also full of a fierce love for the way Crowley matched his mood beat for beat. 

Aziraphale let out a breath. “Come here.” Crowley wasn’t that far away, only propped on an elbow on the next pillow, but he immediately settled onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, throwing an arm and a leg across the angel so there was no space between them. 

“You deserve to laugh about it. After all those stuck-up pricks put you through,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s chest.

A small smile settled on Aziraphale’s lips. He stroked Crowley’s hair and didn’t think about Heaven any more that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @drawlight for inviting us to do this advent calendar of holiday fics/art. I doubt I can keep up every day, but it will be a fun holiday adventure and I'll update the chapters when I write for a prompt. (Here's the post: https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been)
> 
> Endless thanks to my ineffable partner, @ngk-they-said, for beta-ing and encouragement.
> 
> I really appreciate any comments and feedback.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: @tickety-boo-af


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